Everyone tells me I’m working too much, and everything is fully insane from the moment my eyes can focus to about three and a half minutes before I go to bed. And, while I am sorely in need of a day off, and face-to-face conversations with other humans, and occasionally have trouble waking all the way up before 3pm… it feels good. I feel good. Bursts of extended travel, loads of interesting email and messaging, turning the volume of it all down for protracted writing sessions and then stepping back into the tide of material to process and approve and discuss and tweak… It’s mad, and there is literally 3.5 minutes between me getting up from the keyboard and me being in bed. But it’s in balance. I have the outside world filtered out. It’s just me, my comrades and fellow travellers, the news and the music, and the work.
I’m absent from the world in a lot of ways that I never used to be, and I have some fine-tuning to do, but, generally, I’m present in a way that works for me. Nothing’s perfect — but nothing’s ever perfect. And I realised earlier this week that I have, for some while, been at peace. It’s all insane and overwhelming and exhausting and it takes everything I’ve got, every day. But. I’m at peace.
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